Little Donkey
by Armontentia
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Rodolphus is at home, alone, while his wife is with the Dark Lord - serving him in a way only she can. Written for Writing Challenge #44 on xoxLewrahxox's Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful forum.


_A/N: Written for Challenge #44 on the Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful Forum. According to Word Count on Microsoft Word, it's 580 words, but 590 on here.  
>Either way it's between 500 and 1000 :P<br>_

_My chosen Carol is Little Donkey Little Donkey, something that weirdly popped into my head. Wasn't sure whether to make it T or M because of sex references, but then again, there's nothing strong, so made it T. Please tell me if I should change it._

Characters are Rodolphus and Bellatrix. :)

_Happy New Year! xx_

_**Disclaimer: Ofc, I don't own Little Donkey Lyrics or Harry Potter. Just the plot.**  
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><p>Drumming his fingers on the top of the fireplace, Rodolphus looks into the burning, bright flames, before hearing the Muggle carollers – <em>why did his parents buy them a home in a bloody Muggle village? <em>– from outside.

He grinds his teeth together, their sweet, in-tune voices making him think of his relationship with his _lovely, loyal wife_.

_Been a long time, little Donkey._

He can not help but laugh out loud harshly. It is slightly ironic, that that lyric is sung when he is thinking such irritated thoughts. How long has it been since she has_ graced _him with her presence in their bed? Recently, the Dark Lord has taken to beautiful Bella spending the nights with him – and the few days he _hasn't_, the few nights she has_ stayed _at home with her husband, she makes him sleep on the _bloody couch_.

_Don't give up now, little Donkey._

Oh, he wishes he could do such a thing. It is early days in their marriage – perhaps he should have made their parents see sense and not make them get married merely a week after Bellatrix left Hogwarts. And, he asks himself, why did neither she nor the Dark Lord tell him she was being trained to join the cause so soon – at such a young age?

_Had a heavy day, little Donkey._

Others have their fun with their wives – he _knows _it. After a dangerous task they either complete or fail for their Master, _they _all return to their Manors with the urge to satisfy their human desires and needs.

The difference, though, is that _they_ all _do_.

Perhaps it is because Bellatrix is not the perfect pureblood spouse? For she is a Death eater, after all – and, currently, the only female.

_Do not falter, little Donkey._

Pouring himself a glass of Firewhisky and downing it in one, Rodolphus gives a longing sigh.

He hates the man he serves for taking advantage of the young woman.

And he hates her for making him feel so weak, while she is so strong. For making him pitiful, while others envy her. For making him humiliated, while she is the one embarrassing him. For causing others to smirk at him, knowing his wife no longer sleeps with him, but with the Dark Lord – something they never realised he was interested in doing before she was in favour with him.

However, the person he loathes the most is himself. He hates himself for not wanting to have an affair, whilst at the moment; Bellatrix is having one with her Lord. He hates himself for letting her get away with it. He hates himself for acting as though he is blissfully unaware of her activities, though she knows he pretends – something that has been made more than obvious several times when she laughs at his lustful looks in her direction.

Squeezing his eyes together tight, he can practically hear her sniggering.

_Don't you want to _hurt _me, Roddy? Don't you want to get your revenge? Or are you not man enough?_

"SHUT UP!" he bellows, throwing his glass at the door, just at the same time Bellatrix opens it – her locks messy and windswept, eyes gleaming.

She ducks, and as it smashes onto the ground behind her, she eyes the pile of shards cautiously.

"Calm down," she says, startled, to Rodolphus, who stares at her with a dropped jaw.

Half-dancing past him, she pauses, and places a gentle kiss on his stubbly cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Rod."


End file.
